Beneath the First Impressions
by willwrite4fics
Summary: How did some of the first meetings between our favorite characters go? I hope this will end up being a few of those meetings, starting out with Schultz and Newkirk. Early pre-show time period.
1. Chapter 1

Beneath the First Impression

I know that a lot of very talented authors have done many of the first time X meets Y in this fandom. I've read quite a few that were excellent. So I decided to do a few of my own, because this first one I'm posting popped up as a plot bunny and gnawed my ankle until I wrote it up. Poor old Schultz, he just wants to get through another stupid war and he's got all these POWs to deal with. Poor Newkirk, he knows that all the German guards are brutes and jerks and now he's about to discover that some guards are just human beings doing the best they can.

I used _italics_ for when someone is speaking German, although I followed the show's example and sprinkled in some German words in the English too, just like some native speakers do when they're not trying too hard.

* * *

Sergeant of the guard Hans Schultz was on duty in the cooler, even though there were no prisoners in any of the dank cold cells. The German military had rules about such things. The cells needed a guard. Truthfully even if the cells each held a prisoner, Schultz didn't see a clear reason to put a guard in there. Prisoners would be locked into the cells, after all.

He sighed. It wasn't unpleasant duty, although chilly. He could just relax. As old as his bones were, he really didn't mind not having to march around the fenceline. He had to do enough walking and every time one of the prisoners managed to escape, he had to roam about the woods searching for the poor man until they found him and recaptured him. Schultz really wished they wouldn't try to escape. It wasn't safe for them, considering the Gestapo and SS patrols that were in the area so frequently.

But then, prisoners didn't want to be imprisoned. Schultz could hardly blame them for wanting to go back home. He sighed and paced down the length of the hallway to stretch and then went back to the little bench he'd brought in. Settling onto it with a soft groan, he settled in for a boring afternoon. Boring was good. In the middle of another war, boring was the best thing that could happen to a sergeant of the guard.

Almost on cue, he heard loud voices approaching and heaved himself back to his feet. It sounded as if a few guards had one of the English POWs bringing him to the cells. Schultz started for the entrance to meet them and suddenly turned back to retrieve his rifle. Opening up the door, he saw two guards hauling a slightly built young Englishman who was protesting every step. Schultz sighed. It was the same troublemaker again. For a corporal, he seemed able to be in the center of every disturbance in the stalag and had already escaped three times. Once shouldn't count, considering that the guards had caught him two feet outside the wire, hung up on the only extra loops of barbed wire laying outside the fences.

The guards were discussing his latest incident in German as they escorted him into the cooler. From what Schultz overheard, he'd somehow found enough paint to cover the windows of the kommandantur and gotten half the windows blacked out before anyone realized he wasn't washing them after all.

"It was just a bloody joke... I promise I won't do it again! I'll clean the windows. I really will." The young airman wasn't fighting the guards, but he was trying to argue his way out of the punishment. It was a wasted effort considering that his two escorts didn't speak English.

" _What is his punishment_?" asked Schultz in German as the guards saluted him.

" _One week in solitary_." answered the Private. " _The Kommandant is very angry_."

The other private snickered despite the disapproving frown he got from his partner. " _It was quite clever. The other prisoners are all still laughing. If they hadn't been so amused I do not think the kommandant would have been so severe."_

Schultz sighed heavily. " _Maybe herr Kommandant will release him early. Go on, put him in the second cell."_ Schultz moved aside to let them pass.

"Wait wait wait..." Suddenly the Englishman began to dig in his heels as they passed the regular barred cells. "No, I don't want to go in solitary! Just put me in the regular cell! Just... no, I'll stay in the regular cells! I'll be good!" He struggled against the guards now, protesting louder. "Please! Please don't put me in there! I'll fix the windows! Please don't... no!"

Schultz clamped his lips shut and stood aside while the two guards wrestled the young man into the solitary cell. The door shut with a heavy clunk and there was the soft muffled noise of fists pounding on it from the inside for a few moments.

One of the other guards laughed. " _Maybe by the time the kommandant lets him out, he will not be so quick to get into mischief."_ They left quickly, ignoring the noises from behind the solid door. Schultz could hear them making jokes about the protests the prisoner had been making.

He stood near the door and listened to the muffled shouts and occasional thump as the Englishman continued to plead to be released. Pushing aside the sympathy he felt, Schultz told himself that it was punishment duly given out by the kommandant and that he was just a sergeant and couldn't do anything to commute the sentence. He walked down to the end of the hall and turned away.

It took hours for the last noise to die out. Schultz was not a hard-hearted person. He didn't feel that a silly prank warranted locking the poor boy up for so long especially in the solitary cell and not one of the open cells. His eyes went to the solid door. Solitary was a dank chill room without windows. The only way a prisoner inside saw daylight was when the door was opened for meals to be passed in or if the tiny window in the door was opened for the guards to check on him. It was a desolate horrible cell to spend time in.

Schultz paced down the hallway past the door, listening. He couldn't help feeling sorry for the cheery little Englishman. He didn't think he was a bad man. He wasn't a very good prisoner but as far as Schultz could remember, he'd never been violent towards a guard. He was unruly and overly fond of pranks or mischief. But generally speaking, he was smiling when he pulled a trick on someone and seemed well enough liked by the other prisoners. Putting him into a solitary cell just seemed cruel.

He walked back past the door and almost jumped out of his skin when a muffled scream came just as he came opposite the door.

"Quiet!" Schultz bent closer. "Quiet down!" He could still hear the protests through the thick door and forced himself to walk away again. This time it didn't take long for silence to fall.

By evening, everything was so quiet that Schultz was startled when one of his fellow guards showed up with dinner.

" _Feldwebel Schultz_." said the guard. " _I also brought the prisoner's ration._ " He indicated the now silent door. " _I will take it in for you."_

" _Nein."_ Schultz surprised himself when he took the small can containing the weak potato soup. _"I will feed the prisoner. You can go."_ He waited until he was gone before approaching the cell. Opening the peephole window in the door, he tried to peer in and couldn't see anything in the darkness. Schultz banged on the door twice before he unlocked it.

When he pulled it open, he was surprised to find the prisoner curled up on his side right at the door. " _Donnerwetter! Was is los_?" He shooed at him with a wave. "Get back! Back! Back! Back!" Schultz realized quickly that the prisoner had been trying to see out underneath the heavy door through the tiny crack at the bottom.

The Englishman scrambled backwards evidently as startled as Schultz. His eyes squinted in the unexpected light and he stared nervously up at the large German looming in the doorway. When Schultz stepped inside the cell, the prisoner whirled and found the farthest corner and crouched down in it, his back to the wall.

Schultz waited for a moment for him to calm down but he seemed too scared at the moment. "Here, Englander, I bring your food, see?" He held up the metal can. "Here, take it." Holding it out towards him, Schultz waited and then approached a little closer. "It's soup."

The young man showed no sign of wanting to come any closer and stayed frozen in the corner. Schultz set the food down on the floor carefully so it wouldn't spill. "Here is your dinner. I will leave it here. You eat." He waved at it. "It is..." He hesitated. "It is not too bad." Suddenly realizing he'd left his rifle outside the cell, he decided it was time to leave. He backed out slowly, watching the prisoner warily. The Englishman didn't make a sound and didn't move an inch, watching the guard leave.

Reaching the hall, Schultz sighed lightly and started to swing the door closed when a soft plea came from the corner of the cell.

"Please... please don't shut me in here alone in the dark."

Schultz paused and told himself to shut the door. "You are in solitary confinement. I cannot release you." He pushed the door a few inches before the voice spoke up again.

"Please? I... I 'ate being shut away... I promise I'll be good!" There was a soft rustle as he scooted towards the rectangle of light from the cell door. The face was smudged with dirt but the bright eyes showed quite clearly. He looked like such a pitiful thing, crouching on the straw-covered floor of the cold cell.

Schultz frowned at him as best he was able, not being a very fierce soldier at the best of times. "I can only open the door to give you your food." He looked down at the plea in those eyes and relented, even as he thought what a terrible idea it was. "I don't have to close the door right away... but just for a little while."

Immediately the face showed relief and the figure shifted itself around to sit on the floor halfway across the cell, not too close to the door but in the light from the hallway. "Thank you."

Schultz watched him sitting there watching him back for a moment and then motioned with some annoyance. "Eat your food. It will get cold."

The prisoner found the metal container and pulled it to him, sniffing at it first. "I don't think that being cold would 'urt it much."

Schultz chuckled. "It won't help it any to be cold either. At least it is warm. Eat it." He watched the young man drink part of it, making a bit of a face. "If someone comes, I will have to close the door right away."

"I understand." The earnest expression made Schultz believe he meant it. "Thank you. I don't fancy being locked away in the dark."

Schultz shook his head a little and settled onto the bench out in the hallway opposite the cell door. "You are like one of my kinder, afraid of the dark."

Swallowing more of the weak soup, the Englishman shrugged a little. "It's not the dark so much... if I weren't alone and locked up." He looked at Schultz curiously. "What's a kinder?"

Schultz searched his memory for the right words. "Kinder... little ones, children? I have funf." Seeing the confusion, Schultz said, "Funf is five. I have five children."

"Oh. I don't really speak German." Newkirk seemed troubled over not understanding. "I know some German words though." He seemed to be making an effort to talk to the German guard.

"Oh? How many German words have you learned, Englander?" asked Schultz.

"I know a bunch. 'Raus' means 'move faster or I'll 'it you'. Nalmmem means 'tell me your name or I'll 'it you'." He seemed to already be struggling to think. "Nein means 'stop doing that or I'll 'it you'. Kamarad means 'don't kill me, I give up'." He paused and then brightened. "And dummkopf means ''old still so I can 'it you more' and 'actung' means 'stand in front of your bunk so I can beat you'." He seemed rather proud of his vast knowledge of the language.

Schultz was torn between amusement at the depths of the boy's ignorance and sadness at what he was learning from his countrymen. "Not every German word means hitting."

The prisoner blinked at him. "Really? All the guards always 'it me when they say them." He checked the metal container for any last drops of soup.

"Not all guards hit." said Schultz softly.

"Seems to me that all guards 'it." The strange accent didn't obscure the meaning behind the wary gaze.

Schultz leaned back and looked down at him. "Well, I have never hit you."

"Not yet." The prisoner didn't even seem to see anything wrong with the idea that every guard was hitting him.

It made Schultz feel very old suddenly. "What is your name?"

"Newkirk." The prisoner pointed at his rank stripes on his sleeve. "I'm a corporal in 'Is Majesty's Royal Air Force." His pride suddenly withered. "Well, I was. Now I'm a prisoner of war." Suddenly his expression cleared and went back to a blank pleasant one. "I know your name already." He cleared his throat before carefully pronouncing "Feldwebel Schultz." He smiled smugly. "You're the sergeant of the guard 'ere."

"Very good." said Schultz with approval. "Now, I will teach you what those words really mean." A language lesson would pass some time in an agreeable fashion. Maybe Schultz could even correct some of the Englishman's terrible accent.

* * *

Schultz woke up slowly to his shoulder being rather feebly shaken. A voice spoke urgently in his ear quietly. "Someone is coming! Wake up! Wake UP! You're going to get in bloody trouble!"

Blinking and struggling to get up, Schultz was vaguely aware that he needed to wrestle the Englander back into the cell before he escaped and then get the door secured before whoever it was got into the hall to find him sleeping on duty and allowing prisoners to escape from solitary. He would be put on report and the kommandant would transfer him to the Russian Front.

He felt hands on one of his arms, shoving him upright and his rifle slapped into one hand. Before he got turned around, he saw the slight figure in blue slipping into the cell and tugging the door shut behind itself.

"Feldwebel Schultz."

Schultz turned himself around and saluted automatically as the stern face of the camp kommandant strode down the hallway. "Yes herr kommandant!"

The hard gaze took in the chubby guard and then searched the cooler for any sign that anything was out of place. "Has the Englander caused any trouble?"

"Nein, herr kommandant. He has been quiet." Schultz swallowed carefully. "I do not think that he meant to cause so much trouble, herr kommandant, sir."

"Hmmph." The German officer glanced around one last time. "Perhaps." He turned to leave again, having conducted another of his surprise inspections in the camp. "You may release him tomorrow afternoon, after he cleans all the windows on all the buildings in the camp... properly this time."

"Yes, herr kommandant!" Schultz stood at attention until the cooler door closed behind the commander. Then he reached to unlock and open the cell door again. "Corporal Newkirk?"

The thin Englishman edged towards the door, peering out cautiously. "Yes, herr sergeant?"

"He is gone." Schultz saw the relaxation in the young man's face. "Danke, Corporal Newkirk. I would be in big trouble if I were to be caught sleeping on duty. Boy, would I be in trouble."

Newkirk's face relaxed into the familiar good-natured smile. "Consider it repayment for letting me 'ave a breath of fresh air." His hands tucked themselves into his pockets as he looked up at the large German guard.

Schultz wavered. "It is nearly time for my shift to be over. Another guard will be here soon to take over. I am sorry. I will have to close you in again."

Newkirk shrugged and looked away. "I'm fine. Won't be the first time I've been locked in 'ere alone." His haunted eyes and his shiver belied those careless words.

Feeling sad about it, Schultz tried to reassure him. "I will make certain to bring you breakfast, ja? Maybe I will have to take a few extra minutes to yell at you about painting the windows... with your cell door open, ja?"

Newkirk's face got a sly look. "Thankee Schultz." He paused. "Danke, Feldwebel Schultz." He nodded at the door. "You better lock me in, wouldn't want the swing shift to catch you fraternizing with the prisoners."

"Ja... ja... just stay quiet and go to sleep, Englander." Closing the cell door carefully, Schultz locked it and tucked the heavy key ring back into his pocket. His relief should be arriving very soon. He reached for his pocket watch and patted the empty pocket. "Was?" He searched all of his pockets. Somehow, he'd lost his pocketwatch.

His eyes went to the closed door and for just a moment he thought he heard muffled laughter. "Nein..." The Englander would have no reason to be laughing. He shook his head. He probably had forgotten the watch in his barracks room.

Settling down on the bench, he waited patiently for the next shift to arrive. Duty here at Stalag 13 would very likely settle in to be very quiet and boring now. Nothing at all of interest was likely to happen here.

Another soft laugh drifted from the tightly closed cell and for no reason at all Schultz found himself shivering slightly. There was no reason at all for it... Stalag 13 was destined to be a boring backwater of a Luftstalag, filled with quiet tame prisoners content to wait out the war as POWs.

Why wasn't he at all certain of this fact anymore?

* * *

End

So this is the first of the meetings. Maybe I'll do more. After all, Newkirk was just the first.


	2. Chapter 2: LeBeau and Newkirk

So it was that I finally wrote another short fic regarding the first meetings of two of our favorite characters. I hope that you enjoy, and also for the Americans, enjoy your Thanksgiving tomorrow! For the rest of the world, enjoy your November 26!

* * *

When the short Frenchman arrived, he found a dirty cold camp. His fellow POWs tested the waters a little and found he was fierce all out of proportion to his size. One Englishman didn't learn as quickly and seemed to find great amusement in taunting or baiting LeBeau at every opportunity. It didn't take Louis very long to find out that Newkirk and he were more alike than not. Newkirk's near constant annoying of him was the Englishman's method of being friendly. Soon LeBeau found himself forgetting the circumstances surrounding them as they schemed and plotted against their German captors and fellow POWs.

The two of them fought all the time. Sure, they'd chat about things from back home but most of the time, they seemed to argue. It wasn't that they didn't like each other… not really. They just ended up arguing. After a while, they decided they liked arguing with each other and stopped trying not to argue. The rest of the camp tended to roll their eyes and separate them when needed.

But woe to anyone who tried to go after either man. The latest squabble would fall by the wayside to team up against the outsider. Often they'd be right back at each other's throats almost before finishing off the interloper.

The other POWs tried teasing the two about how opposite they were, to be given blank stares. The English tried to corral their countryman, pointing out that the French were not to be trusted. Those men ended up mostly limping and muttering about lowborn Cockney bastards. The few French soldiers talked to LeBeau at length, only to be agreed with and then ignored.

Even the Germans threw up their hands in disgust. They tried dividing them up in separate barracks, but got tired of writing one or the other up for being in the wrong barracks. Putting one on a work party led to the other causing more mischief than could be stood. Putting both on a work party was only done once, and never repeated on pain of being sent to a combat unit, via orders from Sergeant of the Guard Schultz.

When asked, neither would admit to even liking the other one. When they fought, they'd hold their grudges tight for days. LeBeau learned not to insult Newkirk's lowborn status, and Newkirk learned that pranking LeBeau would involve retaliation too horrible to contemplate. It had been two days before he could even keep down coffee. The rest of the barracks hadn't been any happier.

But for the last few days, the fighting had subsided. Not because either man had decided to make peace, nor because they were snubbing each other over something vague.

Newkirk had picked up the flu that had hit the camp hard. Several POWs had been laid up for days, coughing and wheezing with high fevers. The Englishman had hidden any early symptoms, his wary nature and snappy temper keeping anyone from noticing anything.

That is, no one noticed anything until he collapsed during roll call. His barracks-mates got him inside and bundled up in a lower bunk which made him complain. He coughed and wheezed and complained bitterly if anyone bothered him, even LeBeau. Especially LeBeau. So the Frenchman avoided him as much as possible.

But now it was dark and cold in the barracks. The other sick POWs had recovered. Newkirk had worsened. His lungs were soggy with phlegm and every cough was a wet choking affair. Every breath he managed wheezed and gurgled it's way into the thick lungs and back out. The quiet in the creaky building was broken by his labored wheezing. He'd stopped coughing but only because he was too weak to cough anymore.

LeBeau listened to the soft wheezes, one after another with lengthening pauses between each. His heart squeezed with pain at the sounds. The sounds ceased for a long moment and LeBeau sat up, peering through the darkness towards the bunk. When the next wheeze came, LeBeau sighed in relief. Suddenly he was climbing down off his bunk and dragging his blankets over to the bunk. When he reached a hand out to the fevered brow, Newkirk startled awake, struggling to lift a hand to push the unwanted touch aside.

"Shhh, it is only me. It's LeBeau… here." Spreading the extra blanket over the sick man, LeBeau helped him sit up and slipped behind him to support his torso. He remembered that sitting upright helped the breathing. Lacking pillows or even extra blankets to prop the man up, LeBeau arranged himself to act as the same support. Wrapping his arm around Newkirk's shoulders, he propped him up on his chest. The bunk post dug into his back and he shifted aside a bit so it wasn't right on his spine. "Shhh, just try to breathe. I know." The breathing wheezed a few more times before it smoothed out a bit.

"G'way..." Newkirk mumbled softly.

"Non. You need me." LeBeau tugged the blanket further up. "Just rest. Keep breathing. I will be here."

"G'way..." A labored breath in before he could continue. "Y'get sick too."

Suddenly LeBeau understood why Newkirk had pushed everyone away in his hour of need. He feared someone else getting sick. He didn't want another prisoner catching the same illness. LeBeau gathered him up in his arms, lifting him as best he could up onto his thin chest. "Non. I don't care. I will help you. You need me. Shhh, just rest."

A concerned face appeared out of the dark. Olson looked at the pale face laid on LeBeau's chest. "I heard him stop breathing… is he…?"

"Non." LeBeau pushed even the thought away. "He will be fine. Sitting up is better for his breathing." He ignored the heavy wheezing that began to build again. "He will be better soon." Olson nodded wordlessly. He accepted what was probably coming, unlike LeBeau who refused outright.

Olson tried to bring a cup of water but they couldn't coax more than a trickle of water into Newkirk. The American gave up and went back to his bunk finally. LeBeau rested his jaw on top of Newkirk's head, holding him in place and whispering softly in French. The wheezing began to slow again, despite the upright position. LeBeau could feel the effort it took to suck air into the weak body and forcibly wheeze it back out again. He spoke in a soft whisper, telling the Englishman about France, about Paris and how beautiful it would be in spring, how they could go and see all of it when the war was over and done with. He repeated that Newkirk just needed some help, needed LeBeau to help him get better. Even the shared body heat wasn't enough to stop the shaking from chills.

The night deepened. Little flashes of light appeared in the cracks of the shutters and then disappeared again, regular blinks of the searchlights. The air chilled more, LeBeau's breath beginning to frost up in the air. Newkirk's wheezing grew weaker, his spine arching slightly now with each effort.

LeBeau hummed to him, his throat closing over any more words. As the breathing began to falter, LeBeau felt the darkness close in around them both. It seemed to muffle everything outside of the cold bunk, cutting off the rest of the men, the rest of the world. A soft twitch shuddered through Newkirk's body and LeBeau tightened his arms, holding his friend as close to him as he could. "Non. You cannot have him." He swallowed hard and felt tears roll out of his eyes, dampening the short clipped hair under his cheek. "Non, stay with me. Please? Pierre, I need you to stay with me." LeBeau closed his eyes and shifted his embrace to pull in tighter. "You cannot have him. He has to stay here, I need him to be here."

He could feel the skin under his fingers begin to cool and stopped listening for the next wheeze. He didn't want to hear that last breath. Time passed slowly, the darkness stepped back and he waited. Bit by bit, the noises of other men sleeping filtered back into the world. The regular sweeps of the spotlights lit the barracks again and LeBeau waited.

The dawning of the new day began and LeBeau still refused to let go, refused to open his ears to hear the dreaded silence. It was not until Olson put a hand on his shoulder that he opened his eyes. "Non."

Olson shook his head. "It's okay. Let me take him so you can get out of there." He started to gather the limp body up from LeBeau's lap. "I can move him off you."

"Non. I'm not letting him go. He can't go." LeBeau panicked, clutching his friend tightly. "Please."

Olson tugged at his hands. "Easy, don't squeeze so hard, he can't breathe."

Blinking in confusion, LeBeau loosened his arms and felt Newkirk move slightly in response to Olson tilting him forward. "Pierre?" LeBeau got himself out and took the pale sweating face in both of his hands. "He's sweating, the fever… it has broken. Pierre?" He caught his breath as the eyes blinked slowly.

"Thirsty..." croaked Newkirk. They gave him water, encouraging him to drink more than he wanted. LeBeau kept patting him. The first coughing fit made LeBeau laugh with delight because Newkirk was strong enough to cough all the illness out of his lungs now. He would recover.

"Merci Pierre." LeBeau bent to impulsively give him the traditional Gallic kisses on either cheek, laughing again when Newkirk made a face over it.

"What are you thanking me for?" Newkirk's frown and grumpy tone changed into a racking cough again.

"Because you stayed, mon ami."

* * *

It took a few days before Newkirk was able to get himself up and totter about being grumpy on his own two feet. To no one's surprise, the pair of POWs took up their arguments right where they had left off.

What took a bit longer to notice was that the bitterness was missing. Now they argued mostly for the entertainment and out of boredom. Each was quicker to defend the other. LeBeau always gave Newkirk the first cup of broth out of his pot and Newkirk always stood upwind to block the winter air from freezing the smaller Frenchman.

And the next time that Newkirk made an escape attempt, there was a little Frenchman missing too. The fact that they were recaptured in less than 24 hours and brought back in chains didn't seem to dampen their enthusiasm in the least. The kommandant sentenced them both to 30 days in the cooler. The guards despaired of ever having a moment's peace now that the two worst troublemakers had teamed up in earnest.

Olson stood with Schultz outside of the cooler, sharing a cigarette with the burly guard who had allowed the American to pass two cups of hot soup in to the pair. Olson tilted his head as the sound of two very different accents drifted out from inside the heavy walls of the cooler. "Sounds like they're in fine form tonight, Schultz. Maybe you'd better put your earmuffs on before you go _inside_ tonight?"

"Jolly joker." Schultz looked towards the doorway and then shook his head. "All they do is fight. Why do they always have to be in the same space if all they want to do is to fight with each other? Why can't they just leave each other alone?"

Olson smiled up at the guard. "Because, Schultzy, they need each other."


End file.
